


Só Para Você

by facade



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, D.I.L.F. (x2), Established Relationship, Explicit Language, For You With Love, M/M, Masturbation, Masturbation in Shower, Mutual Masturbation, No Plot/Plotless, Oral Sex, POV Third Person Limited, Power Bottom, Seriously: Usage of the Detested Words, Smut, Tumblr Ask Box Fic, Tumblr request
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-09
Updated: 2014-07-09
Packaged: 2018-02-08 04:57:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1927449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/facade/pseuds/facade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em><strong>tumblr Anon <a href="http://she-bleeds-white.tumblr.com/post/91161418678/is-it-possible-for-me-to-request-a-marcelo-cr7-fanfic">asked</a>: Is it possible for me to request a Marcelo/CR7 fanfic :) extra dirty?</strong></em> </p><p>Neither he nor Cristiano were able to stay on their feet for more than a minute after reaching their respective climaxes and neither had the strength to even lift themselves up to turn off the shower, so they just lay there in a heap of arms and legs, high on the smell of watered down sweat and come, drunk on the taste of one another allowing the water to wash away the remnants of their sodomy. "Same time next week?" Marcelo chuckled out as he heard a contented sigh coming from the other man, smiling as he heard the usual 'always' in response.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Só Para Você

**Author's Note:**

> Obviously, smut isn't my usual but I'm always willing to challenge myself (and accept challenges from others) to step outside of my comfort zones to continue to grow as a writer. (You guys will probably read this and be like 'that wasn't even smut, M'Lynn' - I do not know how to write the shit, haha). I tried though. 
> 
> ...also, this is written primarily in 3PL (third person limited - also new for me but I romanticize _everything_ in third person omniscent) but I did switch it to 3PO in the last section. 
> 
> With that said, **all** constuctive criticism is appreciated :)

Marcelo feels the other man’s eyes on him before he ever sees him, feels the gaze of the tuga raking over every inch of his flesh and feels a slight shudder creeping down his spine as he finds the eyes, his eyes on him in the reflection of the mirror and does his best not to think anything of it as he continues to pick away the small tangles within his own hair. He sees the other steal a quick glace into his eyes through the mirror and quickly tries to refocus on what he's doing, trying to do – tries to focus as he rakes and pulls the extended comb through his hair, rakes and pulls – but the other has already seen him, has already quirked his eyebrow and pulled his bottom lip in between his teeth. He’s doing everything within his power not to look back in the direction of the other man, he’s doing everything within his power not to encourage the dangerous, mischievous glint in the eyes of the other man, all the while finding himself plagued by one simple question – _Why? Why? Why?_ He sees the rest of his teammates, the cluster of them that had remained after the match, slowly starting to thin out in the reflection of the mirror but he, the other man, he sees him still standing there with his shoulder pressed up against the white, tiled wall of the room, with that smirk still playing on his lips, with those eyes taking in, examining every inch of his own exposed flesh.

He hears Sergio’s voice talking to the man. He hears _‘¿Qué pasa, bicho?’_ and a chuckled _‘Lo que un juego, ¿no?’_ but he feels, still feels the eyes of the other man burning into the surface of his skin, suddenly feels the eyes of the Spaniard join them as he hears the other man starting to whisper something in his ear. He sees the captain smirk in the blurs of his peripheral vision, sees the Sevillan’s eyes still on him as the light brown haired man is leaning in to hear whatever it is that’s being whispered in his ear. He sees a slight nod of the Spanish head as the smirk turns to a rascally grin, feels butterflies floating and fluttering around his stomach as the light brown hair of the man from Camas heads for the door, feels butterflies floating and fluttering as he hears a final _‘¡Disfruten!’_ before the Spaniard completely disappears from view. He’s alone with him now and he can, he feels promise hanging in the air; promise of what, he’s unsure, doesn’t know if he wants to be sure, if he wants to know…

He hears the other man sighing from behind him, sees the smirk change to a playful, almost daring smile as the other slowly starts to peel off his shirt and heads for the showers, simply leaving his trail of clothes behind as he walks towards the lines of shower heads, sees him choose the one that happens to fall just out of view and scolds himself for the curiosity he feels building within himself. He glances down at the towel wrapped around his own waist and heads for his locker, pulls out the jeans and t-shirt lying within, before he realizes his error.

The other man has chosen the shower directly adjacent to where he’s standing in front of his locker and he’s doing his best to stay quiet as he chokes down his gasps and whimpers, swallows his _‘¡Dios mío!’_ as he sees the steaming, hot water rolling down the toned, bronzed skin of the other man, sees the little molecules of water rolling into the crevices and forming an outline of glistening moisture around the plateaued rises of the other man’s abdomen. He feels his head grow light as all of his blood seems to be rushing to his center – _no, look away, look_ away – and he tries to fight off the urge to touch himself as he sees the other man in full: suds forming in the hands of the other man as he sees more of the white foam forming just as the other man slowly, gently begins to lather the pectorals of his chest – _look away, look away_ – as the other man presses his hands further down, coats the ridges of his abdomen in the froth shortly after – _look away, look away_ – as the other man presses further down still, covers his herculean thighs in the soft suds and releases his own guttural moans of contentment _– look away, look away_ – as the other man hesitantly drags his hands upwards, hangs them over his semi-hard shaft in consideration – _look away, look away_ – and he feels himself gasping for air as the hand moves just past the groin of the other man. He tastes his own blood as he strongly presses his uppers into his bottom lip, as he watches the other man turn, starting to rub circles of white, frothy, bubbles against his ass cheeks and he, he…

He finally caves, finally shoves his hands past his towel to send the bath sheet to the ground as he grabs his own cock firmly within his grasp. He tugs on himself – firmly, vigorously – softly moaning the name of the other, softly moaning ‘Cristiano’ as he watches the Portuguese man making love to his own body, as he watches the hands of the other man exploring his own ass before he sees him reaching forward to… ‘¡Dios mío!’ This time he allows himself to say it, lacks the strength to hold it within himself as he sees the other man wrapping his hands around his own shaft. He sees the smirk form on the face of the other man as he sees the forward lean his back against the wall of tile, as he sees him tilt his head upwards, as he allows his jaw to drop ever so slightly as he begins to slowly tease himself – tugging and releasing, back and forth. He paces himself with the other man, tugs on himself and releases himself in the same rhythm as the other man. He feels as if the room is starting to spin, feels himself struggling to maintain his balance as he hears Cristiano panting, sees him gasping for air in front of him as he sees the free hand of the winger running over his own pectoral, fingers teasing and toying with the nipple as it’s rolled between the finger and the thumb of the number seven.

His mouth goes dry as Cristiano’s eyes find his again, as the tilt of the winger’s smirk falls back into view; he sees one of the hands of the other man still running along his own cock and the other, the index finger of the other is motioning for him to come to him. He moves his head to say no but as the other man begins to hum in self-appreciation, as he seems to finally hit a rhythm that will surely take him to his climax, he feels himself stumbling forward, feels himself being pulled in by the other man. He can’t hear what the other man is saying over the sounds of the water crashing to the floor but he's fairly certain he’s mumbling nothing more than jibber jabbers of gibberish, and he immediately attaches his lips to the pliant, smooth ones of the other man, moaning as his hand comes to rest on the sharp rise of one of the other’s hip bones, as his other hand begins to gently explore the body of the other man – the curve of his firm ass, the ridges and valleys of his back muscles, the sculpted pectorals and abdomen of his torso – and gently moans into the mouth of the other as Cristiano takes his ass within his own firm grasp. He feels Cristiano’s smile against his lips as he feels one of his hands being pushed away from the body of the taller man, his free hand having been denied a free feel of the engorged cock of the Portuguese winger. He soon feels his lips being forced apart by the tongue of the other man and obediently begins to suck on the pink, slick muscle as Cristiano makes it clear that there would only be one way for him to touch his cock, that he would only feel his cock from within himself.

He feels the hardness of the tiles of the wet floor against his knees only moments later, the skin of Cristiano’s herculean thighs against his lips milliseconds after. He glances up for a moment, feels the straying water of the shower falling into his eyes as he makes out the sultry smirk painted on the face of the other man, narrows his eyes as he grins back mischievously, as he sticks out his tongue and quickly flicks at the slit of the other man. He feels the older man shudder at the contact, sees his eyes roll to the back of his skull, so he firmly takes the full girth of Cristiano’s engorged cock within his grasp and flicks at his slit again, and again, and again, sighing contentedly as the sweet taste of Cristiano’s pre-cum – _my God_ – coats the tip of his tongue – _más_ – and listens as the other starts pleading for more, begging for more. He feels the number seven’s hands in his wet hair as he wraps his lips around the head of his cock, feels the pressure as the other man tries to pull his lips further down on himself, and hears the exasperated pants of the winger as he refuses to comply – _make him beg_. He hears him whine as he pops his lips off of his head and glances upwards again, licking his lips teasingly as he listens to the other man desperately imploring more of him. “ _Más, Marcelo.” “Por favor, no puede hacer esto a mí.”_ _“Más, por favor.”_

When he feels as if the Portuguese god has suffered enough, he finally flattens his tongue and runs it over the slit of the other man again - this time in full, finally traces the ring around the head of his cock just after he finishes leaving a thick coat of saliva along the thick, blue vein on its underside. He feels a shiver creep down Cristiano’s spine - feels the muscles convulsing beneath his touch - as he shoves the head of Cristiano’s engorged member into the soft flesh of his cheeks, as he coats a few inches of the other man with the hot, wet slick of his saliva. He feels Cristiano’s hand move from his hair to the back of his neck, feels him encouraging him to take in more, and hears him sigh in satisfaction as he obliges, hears him start audibly gasping for air as he shoves the Portuguese cock all the way to the back of his throat. His salivary gland responds as tastes of Portugal fall to his taste buds and he feels as if he’d choke – either on the excess moisture or the mere girth and size of this man; he reminds himself to breathe through his nose as he pulls his lips back to the ring just before he forces them all the way back down the other man to the base – _base to ring, ring to base, breathe_ – over and over again as he falls into a slow rhythm. He hears Cristiano moaning, feels his hands gripping desperately at his loose curls, and continues his assault of hot, wet pleasure as he feels the Portuguese man arching himself into the soft yet firm pull of his mouth – _base to ring, ring to base, breathe._ He pulls off of the other man with a sloppy, wet – pop! – smiles up at him seductively through narrowed eyes as strands of their pre-cum and saliva mixture bridges the corner of his lips to the shaft of the older man, and wraps his lips around his teeth as he leans forward to gently pull the neglected scrotum of the number seven into the humidity of his mouth for a few moments. He hears Cristiano cursing, sees him clawing at the tiles of the wall again as he glances up from where he was sucking him, and – sensing that Cristiano will be coming soon – moans as he abandons the bollocks of the other man for more of the sweet taste of Cristiano; he bobs his head on the cock of the forward and inwardly smiles as his own gentle hums elicit a string of curses from the older man, moans as he feels Cristiano starting to shake violently beneath his touch. He simply nods his head as Cristiano starts muttering incoherently about coming, encourages the other man as he increased his suction and exaggerated the strokes of his lips, as he shoved himself down on the other man until the slit of Cristiano’s cock was dragging along the innermost soft tissue of the back of his throat; he feels the rushing of Cristiano’s cum before he tastes it, before the other man explodes and covers the inside of his mouth and bits of his face with the thick, sticky, white of his pleasure, and – _oh my fucking god, do you taste good_.

He feels Cristiano’s thumb wiping the stick at the corner of his mouth and he instinctively turns to take that thumb into his mouth as his eyes find the darkened brown one’s of the Iberian; he wants all of him inside of him. He hears the winger’s breathy chuckle and a whispered _‘you’re amazing’_ as he seductively licks the rest of the other man’s cum from the corners of his own lips and sucks the last of it from within the other’s softening cock, moaning as more of the sweet taste of Cristiano coats his tongue.

* * *

The tiles of the wall are cool beneath his hands but the breath of the other man ghosting against his ass is as hot and humid as the steamy air surrounding him. He feels blood rush to his cheeks as he suddenly feels the tongue of the Madeiran man running along his crack, as he feels the hot, slick muscle teasing the ring of muscle at his entrance and he can’t, he can’t for the life of him swallow down his _“Por fa-favor, Cristiano.”_ He whimpers as he hears the other man chuckle at the sound of his desperate pleas and his eyes roll to the back of his skull as the Portuguese man compliantly forces his tongue through the tight ring of muscle, as he finally feels the hot, wet inside of him. His “¡Dios mío!” escapes into the air as two fingers replace the tongue, as he feels Cristiano scissoring him open, and the room starts to spin around him, to blur to nothing more than splatters of color as the tips of the tuga’s fingers brush against his most sensitive gland. He hears him spitting, feels the anticipation building from within himself as he feels Cristiano gently yet resolutely spreading his thighs further apart, and he shivers as he feels the number seven positioning himself behind him. Hands on his hips, the girth of him at his entrance, sweat forming and being carried away by the water, the hesitancy of the winger, his own desperation – he feels it all. He screams as he feels his ring of muscle collapsing at the pressure of the other man’s cock – _oh, fuck_ – feels the burning pleasure as Cristiano pushes his head inside of him - _ta gostoso, ta gostoso_ \- and screams until the ring around the head of Cristiano’s cock is resting at his entrance. He feels his own tears rolling down his cheeks entwining with the mist and stray droplets of the shower, his whole body trembling as he struggles to adjust to the girth… He feels the tuga release one of his hips, the now free hand over one of his own and the soft lips – _oh god, those lips_ – of the other pressed up against the nape of his neck. On impulse, he presses himself back against the other and listens as the other man hisses a string of profanities against his neck just before he screams out in painful pleasure as his ass collides with the prominent hips of the Iberian. _“¡Dios mío,_ _Marcelo!” “Você é tão apertado, bébé.” “I’ll tear you apart.”_

* * *

He could feel himself coming undone; each withdraw felt like a punch in the gut and each time Cristiano slammed back into him from behind, buried himself to the hilt, he felt like he was drowning in a sea of euphoria. His vision was hazy and his thoughts were radical but his feelings – the feeling of a large cock tearing him apart from the inside out, of his sweat entwining with the other, of fingers digging into his hip bones as he was pounded into from behind – clear, loud, prominent. He shivered in delight as the tuga called him a ‘filthy slut’ and tilted his head back so the number seven could leave bite marks on his collar bone, rolling his hips rhythmically against the other man in encouragement earning himself a strong slap on the ass. He moaned as he continued rolling his hips against the other – _Mais forte! Mais forte! Mais forte!_ – as he felt the other man reach forward and firmly grasp his cock while pumping it one, two, three times before reaching further down to cup his scrotum. He could feel the water of the showers still rolling off of his skin though he was certain most of the moisture on his body was the sweat of both himself and Cristiano, could feel his breathing quickening as he felt blood rushing to his center at incredible pace, could see the fine lines of the grout turning to blotchy splatters. “Cri- Cri-Cris…” he stuttered out as he attempted to get the other man’s attention - _ta gostoso, ta gostoso_ – “Fuck! Cris, I, I’m, I’m… Eu estou gozando!” He yelled as he failed to process any words outside of his native tongue; he came in a haze of pure white and felt himself collapse against the wall, gasping for air – any form of reprieve – as he felt the stick of Cristiano’s come filling him for the second time, as he felt his stomach muscles contracting and his body convulsing from the pleasure. “Fuck!” 

Neither he nor Cristiano were able to stay on their feet for more than a minute after reaching their respective climaxes and neither had the strength to even lift themselves up to turn off the shower, so they just lay there in a heap of arms and legs, high on the smell of watered down sweat and come, drunk on the taste of one another allowing the water to wash away the remnants of their sodomy. "Same time next week?" Marcelo chuckled out as he heard a contented sigh coming from the other man, smiling as he heard the usual 'always' in response.


End file.
